


Brave

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Anal, Bottom John, First Time, Fucking, M/M, hawkeye is a switch, hills to die on, supply shed, switch - Freeform, trapper bottoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: The first time, John tries to cover with bravado. Tells Hawkeye if hereallywants it, then he can have it, because - "I can't resist a pretty face."Hawkeye doesn't buy it. Holds his gaze and doesn't let John get away with joking into it, doesn't let him off that easy. "This isn't a favor, Trap."John doesn't know what to say. Or what to do about the sudden realization that he thought itwasa favor. That Hawkeye had been humoring him, that eventually, it'd be his turn to reciprocate, becuase that's how it works. Because buddies share, and sometimes, you take the extra shift, the more annoying patient. You do it - not because of some ideal of fairness, but because you know he needs it. Because you need it, too.





	Brave

The first time, John tries to cover with bravado. Tells Hawkeye if he _really_ wants it, then he can have it, because - "I can't resist a pretty face." 

Hawkeye doesn't buy it. Holds his gaze and doesn't let John get away with joking into it, doesn't let him off that easy. "This isn't a favor, Trap." 

John doesn't know what to say. Or what to do about the sudden realization that he thought it _was_ a favor. That Hawkeye had been humoring him, that eventually, it'd be his turn to reciprocate, becuase that's how it works. Because buddies share, and sometimes, you take the extra shift, the more annoying patient. You do it - not because of some ideal of fairness, but because you know he needs it. Because you need it, too.

Hawkeye pulls him into a hug, there on the floor, cups his hand around John's head, works his fingers through his curls. His three-day stubble is comfort against John's cheek; the smell of him is familiar and rank, and momentarily pleasant. 

"I want you to know how good it feels to let someone in," he says, low and rumbling. "To take you away from here. To get lost for a minute. I - " he sounds a little frusrated, like the right words aren't available. "I won't hurt you. Physically or otherwise. I couldn't do that to you, Trap."

John leans into him, lets himself sag against Hawkeye's chest, feels Hawk's hold on him adjust - where he was holding himself up, he's now cradling John to him, thumbs absently tracing circles on his back. He sighs long, closes his eyes. 

He doesn't know if he wants this or not, and his mind flits to a memory of Becky at her first birthday party. The adults laughed when Louise held a spoonful of ice cream in front of her and she eyed it dubiously, having never tried it. John remembers how he grinned at her, how he swiped a finger through the vanilla coldness and held it up to her lips until she decided to trust him and taste it. How her face changed when the flavor hit her, how she knocked Louise's spoon out of the way and dove for the bowl in her high chair.

He smiles at the memory. He doesn't know if he wants this, but someone he trusts - with his life, with his sanity - is holding out a hand and telling him there's sweetness to be had, and damnit, he's not going to be the guy who turned down ice cream for life.

John nods against Hawkeye's cheek. Hawk stiffens ever so slightly, like he's holding his breath. "Okay," John mutters, more to himself than Hawkeye. "Okay, yes."

Hawk's grip tightens as he turns his head to kiss John - slow, deep, so unlike everything John's seen him do with the nurses, where Hawk kisses like a butterfly, landing on a new inch of skin every second, never taking enough time to properly explore. His mouth is warm and insistent, hungry, and he's slipped his hand back into John's hair, is leaning into the kiss with everything he's got. John finds himself letting Hawkeye lead, not unlike dancing, and he tries to follow, tries to be the kind of partner that makes it look effortless while his desire grows and finds its way to every pulsing inch of his skin.

Hawkeye breaks the kiss and smiles against his lips, offers one more, soft and gentle. "Take your pants off, Trap," he says, and it's not as much a command as an invitation, the way one might offer a chair, or to take a load off.

"You too," John says hurriedly, and Hawkeye nods, reaching for his belt. It doesn't take long before they're bare from the waist down. Hawkeye pulls him down to the mattress, curls up at his back, wraps one long arm around his torso.

"Easy, John," he whispers as Trap shakes with something between cold and nerves. "I've got you."

Hawkeye strokes his chest, petting and soothing as John shivers. Hawk reaches overhead, fumbles among the shelves until he pulls down a spare blanket - mouse-eaten and grimy, but something between them and the night's damp coolness. John presses his back against Hawkeye's chest, pulse racing, and Hawk's hand finds its way back to his chest, down over his stomach, to his cock, which is only half-hard, given how anxious he is.

But Hawkeye's hand is warm and as familiar as another person's hand can be over here, and John relaxes into it, lets himself breathe as Hawkeye ripples his fingers over his length. John lets out a breath that's half-moan, half sigh, feels himself starting to calm down. 

"That's it," Hawkeye breathes, lips at his ear. John can feel him hard against his back, tries to reach behind him, between them, but Hawk presses himself ever more firmly against him, leaving no room for his hand. "Uh-uh. You're going to let me lead, big guy."

"I bet you call all the boys that," John says, but the sarcasm of it is swallowed by an unexpected gulp as Hawkeye's fingers leave his cock and start moving further down. John feels his breath start quickening again. "Uh - Hawk?" 

"Shhh," comes the whisper at his ear, Hawkeye's hips nudging at his. "Roll over. Touch yourself while I touch you. It'll help."

He doesn't have to be told twice. He rolls onto his knees and forearm, grasping his cock and tearing off a few strokes. Hawk's right - it does distract him a little as he feels Hawkeye's fingers gently probing between his cheeks. It tickles at first, and John twitches, flinches, lets out a strangled laugh until Hawk gets the message and presses more firmly, slow circles around an unexpectedly tender spot.

His hand leaves for a second, and John groans into the crook of his elbow, not realizing quite how much he's been enjoying the proceedings. There's some fumbling, packaging being torn open, and the unmistakable sound of a rubber glove being stretched over a hand. John wonders if he's ever going to hear that sound the same way again.

"Brace yourself, it's cold," Hawkeye says, and before John can ask exactly _what_ is cold, Hawkeye's very very cold slick fingers are back and starting up again. John can't help it - he yelps, jumps forward. Hawk just laughs, a low, affectionate rumble so unlike his usual bray.

"Toldja," he says, hauling John back up by his hips with his clean hand. "Now stay still and be good."

"Yes _sir,_ " John says with enough mockery to make himself clear. The low laugh comes back, darker. 

"I should make you say that more often."

"You _would_ like that, you pervert."

"Hey, I saw you at the last meeting. Or was that your secret twin?"

The banter distracts him enough until things warm up, feel less strange. He's getting used to it, almost. And then Hawk starts pushing a finger into him and he tenses up, a blush racing over his whole torso, warm and buzzing and he gasps - "Hawk. Hawk!"

Hawkeye stops at once. "You okay, Trap?"

John tries to catch his breath. "I don't - I don't know if I can - " he wants this. He wants it so much it burns. There's no more indecision, but a powerful, ugly, twisting fear wakes and roars in his ears. _This is wrong._ This is so far beyond two buddies helping each other out, so utterly beyond any kind of reasonable explanation. His vision swims, stomach clenching.

"Trapper." Hawkeye's voice is firm. "You can. You can and you will. Let me in, Trap." He pushes his finger in to the knuckle and something bright flickers at the edge of John's vision. "That's it," he says again. "Let me in. Let it take you somewhere else. I know, Trap, I know. It's new and it's scary and if it doesn't feel good, I'll stop. Do you want me to stop?"

John can't talk. Hawkeye waits, not moving, letting him get used to the feeling. He puts a steady, warm hand on John's back. "There you go," he says, gentle as he might talk to a patient. "That's it." He gives his finger the tiniest experimental wriggle and John bites back a howl. 

It's filthy and impossible and terrifying. 

He wants more.

It feels like hours, but the sky shows no sign of relenting to sunrise by the time Hawkeye eases himself inch by slow inch into John. John can imagine him exactly, can conjure the shape and feel of Hawkeye in his hand, even in his mouth. He's not a large man, but John can't imagine handling anything bigger than this. He's shaking again, sweating and trying his damndest to breathe quietly.

Hawkeye sinks in the last inch, feels their hips meet, lets out a slow, soft, "Oh, _John._ " He kisses Trap's back, breathing through his teeth as Trapper squeezes, the hot grip of him bringing Hawkeye to the edge. He wills himself back, pinches the tender skin on the back of his knee to break up the sensation. "You're so _good._ You feel so fucking good."

And then he starts to move, tiny, miniscule rocking motions that send John to the stars. Each one seems to find some new spot, some undiscovered spark and he's on his forearms with his head in his hands, trying not to fall to pieces because it _aches_ and he still wants more and he's so hard it's painful. He whimpers into his wrists and hopes Hawkeye hasn't heard him.

Hawk reaches around, finds John stiff, hot, weeping into his hand as soon as he gets his fingers around. There's no time to tease, now, just a steady stroking, picking up speed as John muffles his moans into a fistful of blanket, breath coming faster and faster - he wants Trap to get there first, wants to feel him come apart under him, wants him to understand that it's not about reciprocation at all.

The involuntary clench that preceeds John's orgasm is all it takes. John falls forward as he comes, Hawkeye with him, biting his shoulder as they come, John clutching at the pillow and shaking, eyes closed. For the first time since he arrived in Korea, he's not there. Not wishing he was anywhere else, not hating where he is, not knowing or caring about anything but the man holding him pinned against the sheets. This is all there is. This is all there needs to be.

It's the moon that gets him, brings him back, whether it's been an hour or five minutes, he has no idea. He feels empty, suddenly, painfully alone, and reaches behind him, grasping a little more frantically than he thinks he has a right to, and Hawkeye's arms are there, curling around him once more.

"You okay?" Hawk says again, sated and sleepy. John nods. "You come back?" The question doesn't make sense, but he nods again. He feels Hawkeye nuzzle the back of his neck with his nose. "Toldja."

John takes Hawkeye's hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each fingertip. He doesn't know how else to say it.

"Thank you, Trap," Hawkeye says softly. "For letting me."

"Yeah," John says softly. They should get up. They should get back. They're risking too much, dozing here. The night can't last forever. 

But maybe there's a few more minutes it can spare.


End file.
